


Not A Match

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Denmark Street musings [19]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, sort of canon but not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 08:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21335560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: A slightly alternative universe where Strike and Robin don’t meet on Tinder.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Denmark Street musings [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1035698
Comments: 26
Kudos: 55





	Not A Match

“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise again for the ongoing delay. This is due to fog obscuring the runway at this present time. But the breeze has picked up a little, and we’re confident we will be able to take off shortly. We are currently due to arrive in Glasgow approximately an hour after our scheduled arrival time.”

Robin Ellacott sighed and sat back in her seat, glancing out of the window. It didn't seem too foggy to fly, but she supposed the pilot and control tower knew best.

She glanced at her watch. Luckily she was in no hurry. All she had to do tonight was make her way to her hotel and find something to eat.

She picked up her phone and checked her messages again. Still nothing. She was surprised that her mother, back home in Yorkshire, hadn’t been in touch. The older woman had been particularly attentive in recent months, since Robin’s divorce had come through. It was both comforting and annoying.

She idly opened the Tinder app that she had only downloaded to shut Vanessa up. Her colleague had insisted that she had to “get back out there”, and that this was the way it was done these days. Robin had met her ex-husband at school, so she had no idea how grown-ups met potential dates, but when she’d said she’d hoped to meet someone in a more organic way, Vanessa had laughed and told her she needed a more modern outlook.

The app had already come up with an alarming number of suggestions for her. She wondered if there would be so many if she didn’t live in London. She idly looked at the first one. Adam, 32, a lawyer. Handsome enough in his grey suit. She scrolled swiftly through his mini bio, and sighed. Boring. She swiped left.

She hadn’t plucked up the courage to swipe right on anyone yet. What if she actually got a match? Was she ready for that?

They came up, one by one, so many of them. She paused on a few that looked likely, handsome young men in suits, vaguely reminiscent of her husband with their confident smiles and smart collars, and swiped straightaway past others.

She quirked one eyebrow at a sullen-looking heavy-set older guy with stubble and a broken nose, and swiped on to see the next.

She was distracted by a snort of laughter from behind her and a deep voice.

“Ouch! That was a very definite no.”

Robin glanced round. Was that comment directed at her?

Heavy-set Tinder guy was sat behind her, watching with amusement through the gap in the seat backs. Robin glanced hurriedly back down at her phone, but he was gone. She looked up again, cheeks flaming.

“I, er, haven’t said yes to anyone yet,” she stammered. “Sorry.”

He was huge, filling the seat, his hair a riotous curly mess and that nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice. But his dark eyes, far from looking sullen as they had in his profile picture, twinkled at her with amusement. He didn’t look in the least bit offended, and was enjoying her discomfort. Robin could feel herself blushing harder.

“I, er, I’m only on it because my friend made me. She said it’s the only way to meet people these days.” _Stop making excuses! _

He grinned, a big, cheerful grin that lit up his whole face. “Well, I can top that. I’m only on it because _my_ friend pinched my phone and set it up herself while I was out smoking on her patio. That’s why it’s such an unflattering picture, she just snapped me as I walked back in.”

Robin laughed. “She’s determined to pair you up, then?”

“Yup,” he said cheerfully. “She’s nauseatingly happily married to another friend of mine, and quite determined to try to bring that happiness to everyone else.”

He stuck a hand through the gap in the seats. “I’m Cormoran, by the way.”

“Robin,” she replied automatically, shaking his hand. “Cormoran, that’s unusual. I thought it said Cameron on your profile.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s impressively observant, seeing as you only looked at it for a second. But yes, it’s a mistake people often make.”

Robin grinned back at him. She liked this guy. “I notice stuff.”

“Me too,” he said. “What do you do?”

Robin shrugged. “I’m in the police. For now.”

“Why for now?” he asked, his eyes narrowing with interest. “Actually, do you mind—” He gestured to the empty seat next to her. “I hope you won’t think that’s too forward, but I promise you it’s not meant to be, especially since we have established at the outset that you don’t find me attractive. Just easier than talking through the seat backs.”

Robin laughed again and waved at the seat. “Sure, help yourself.”

Strike gathered up his battered copy of Catullus and his phone, unclipped his seat belt and pulled himself out of his seat, wondering as he did so what on earth he was doing. He’d been delighted to get an aisle seat with the window seat next to him free on this half-empty flight, allowing him plenty of room to stretch his long frame out. Now he was willingly giving up his two-seat spread to sit next to a total stranger.

That stunning rose gold hair, though, the soft blue-grey eyes and the cheeky, cheerful grin that was making his stomach flip. _Stop it, Strike,_ he told himself._ You have irrefutable evidence that she doesn’t see you that way._

__

Robin’s heart fluttered a little as the huge stranger made his way around the seat and settled himself next to her, wondering why she had agreed. He really was big, well over six feet tall, and this close she could see the stubble on his jaw, dense and dark. His hands were enormous as he tucked his phone and book into the pocket in front of him, and she could see chest hair trying to climb its way out of the top of his shirt. He was a great bear of a man, but gentle with a kindly smile. Not her type at all. But then, did she even have a type? One guy wasn’t a type, and she certainly wasn’t drawn to any of the Matthew clones on Tinder.

__

“So,” he said as he settled into his seat, half turning to face her. “You’re in the police?”

__

Again, that shrug. “Yeah—”

__

“I’m sensing you’re not keen.”

__

She sighed a little. “I thought I was, it’s just—” The plane jolted and started to move. “Oh, look, here we go. Finally.”

__

“Finally,” he agreed, and Robin wondered if she had imagined the subtle change in his demeanour, a slight air of tension suddenly. He straightened a little in his seat.

__

“Yeah, I do like the police,” Robin went on. “But I’m in the wrong department, I think. I’m kind of behind the scenes, permanently at a desk, and I’d like to be out investigating cases.”

__

He shot her a sideways glance full of appraisal. “I’m a detective,” he told her.

__

Robin’s eyes widened. “In the police too?”

__

He shook his head, his hands tightening on the arm rests as the plane trundled along now towards the runway. “No, private. My own company.” His ego enjoyed how impressed she looked, even as he privately wondered if you could really call one overworked guy who lived above his tiny office, two freelance assistants and a series of terrible temporary secretaries a company. It seemed a bit of a stretch.

__

“It’s what I’ve always wanted to do,” she enthused now. “Get out on the street, solve crimes.”

__

He grinned again. “It’s not very glamorous, most of it. How come you didn’t just go into crime from the start?”

__

Again the shrug, the gorgeous eyes sliding away to look out of the window. “My parents didn’t really think it was a good idea, and my husband didn’t want me out on the streets, he thought it would be dangerous.” She saw his eyes flit to her bare left hand. “Divorced,” she said succinctly, waving her ringless fingers at him. “He had an affair.”

__

Why was she telling him that? But he didn’t look shocked or embarrassed like so many people did. “Sorry to hear that,” he said. “Man’s an idiot.”

__

Robin giggled, and then wondered what he meant by that. Was he suggesting that she—?

__

“Well, I’m only not divorced because I never got round to getting married,” he went on. “But I was with someone, on and off, for sixteen years, and she ran off with someone else.” He supposed it wasn’t technically true - Charlotte still claimed she had got together with her ex after they split up, but he had his suspicions. It had happened too fast. And besides, he wanted this nice girl, with her soft curves and beautiful hair, to feel that she wasn’t alone. He didn’t look too carefully at his own motives for this.

__

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that too,” Robin said. “So, anyway, that’s why I’m on this flight. I start a course in Glasgow tomorrow morning, training in surveillance and counter surveillance. I’m hoping to switch to the serious crime unit. How about you?”

__

“Following a lead,” he said.

__

“Ooh, are you on a case?”

__

“Yeah. I’m investigating an old colleague. I’m former military police, and his records are in Glasgow. A contact is going to let me have a look.”

__

The plane was creeping round to the start of the runway. Robin noticed that the big hands on the arm rest were gripping tightly now, and there was a slight tremor in the deep voice.

__

“Are you okay?” she asked gently.

__

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “I’m just not a very good passenger. Cars, trucks, planes... I’ll be all right when we get up there.”

__

The plane shot forwards, and his knuckles went white.

__

“Breathe with me,” Robin instructed, and they synchronised their breathing as the plane roared down the runway. Even as he battled to control the panic, to breathe through it, to envisage it washing over him and away rather than drowning him, Strike wondered with a detached part of his brain what had happened in her past that she knew the same breathing exercises as he did, the same methods to ward off panic attacks and manage PTSD.

__

Almost as soon as the wheels left the runway, his heart rate began to slow, and he realised her hand was on his arm, a gentle, comforting weight. He glanced down, and she pulled it away hurriedly.

__

“So, tell me about the case,” she said lightly, making conversation.

__

For a wild moment, Strike contemplated actually telling her. He’d told none of the women in his life about the gruesome killer he was trying to track down, not wanting to frighten them. But instinct told him this woman could take it, that she would be fascinated rather than terrified. He imaged discussing the case, asking her what she thought, what he was _missing_ that he still hadn’t managed to piece this puzzle together.

__

He shook his head a little. Ridiculous fancy. “Boring,” he said. He relaxed his hands as the plane climbed up through the low, heavy clouds and emerged into brilliant sunshine. “Thanks for that,” he added quietly. “I was in an accident in the Army, a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. Lost half my leg, invalided out. I’ve not been good at being driven, or apparently flown, since.”

__

She nodded - again, quiet acceptance, not the gasps or over-exaggerated sympathy he’d become used to from strangers and old acquaintances when he told them about the loss of his leg.

__

He shot her a sideways grin. “Security for flights is interesting,” he said. “My leg sets the scanners off every single time. I have to allow extra time to get through.”

__

She laughed a little. “I bet! Did you also leave your toothpaste in your bag like I did? Liquids, it said you have to separate out. Under whose laws of physics is toothpaste a liquid?”

__

Strike roared with laughter, and Robin giggled. She was enjoying this flight suddenly.

__

The plane banked, turning north, and the early evening sunshine steamed in the side windows, glinting off her beautiful hair so that she was briefly haloed in flame, her eyes dancing with merriment. Strike’s breath caught in his chest. He’d met, and indeed dated, plenty of beautiful women in his life, but this one was stunning. How did she manage to be so girl-next-door one moment and then stunningly beautiful the next? He was mesmerised, realised he was staring and had to drag his eyes away.

__

His gaze fell upon the trolley that was starting to make its way towards them. Strike delved into his pocket for his wallet. “Can I buy you a drink, Robin?”

__

She hesitated just a moment, then nodded shyly. “Thank you. Are you having one?”

__

“Yup,” he said cheerfully. “It’s officially evening now, and anyway, time on planes doesn’t count, even if you’re not changing time zones. I’m having a beer.”

__

“In that case, I’ll have a white wine, please,” Robin said, smiling. She felt decadent, suddenly. She’d brought water with her, not intending to avail herself of the ludicrously expensive trolley service.

__

She watched him covertly as he ordered the drinks, smiling and chatting with the young man serving. He wasn’t handsome, her new acquaintance, but there was something about him, a presence to him, that fascinated her. His dark eyes drew her in, and he was so large in the cramped space, it made delightful shivers run up her spine when he looked at her.

__

She thanked him softly as he passed her her tiny wine bottle and a plastic glass. The trolley moved on, and he pulled a face at her and leaned in conspiratorially. “They put Newcastle Brown in the fridge,” he muttered disapprovingly. “Real ale is supposed to be room temperature. You want cold, drink lager.”

__

Robin giggled. “Well, my wine is lovely and cold,” she assured him.

__

He grinned at her, opening the can and pouring the beer. “So, where are you from?” he asked. “I’m hearing northern vowels.”

__

“You are,” she acknowledged. “Cheers,” she added, and they clinked glasses. “Yorkshire. Mum and Dad still live in my home town with the family dog and one of my brothers.”

__

“One of them? How many have you got?”

__

“Three. One older than me and two younger. How about you?”

__

“One sister, younger, lives in London too. But we’re from Cornwall.”

__

“Is that where your parents live?”

__

She sensed she’d stepped onto unwanted territory. His gaze slid away from her. “My aunt and uncle live there, they partly raised us,” he said. “My mum died when I was twenty, and I never knew my father.”

__

Her hand crept to his arm again. “I’m sorry,” she said again. Then she grinned. “Second time I’ve said that. Let’s talk about something more cheerful.”

__

He smiled fondly down at her, grateful to her for changing the subject. “Like what?”

__

“Tell me about your company. I’ve always wanted to be an investigator. I did psychology at uni.”

__

“You’ve got a degree?”

__

It was her turn to flit her eyes away a little. “No. I dropped out.”

__

“Me too,” he said, surprised. “Here’s to making it in life anyway.”

__

They clinked cups again, each silently wondering if they were, in fact, making it anyway, and then Strike began to tell her about his business. He often made it sound more glamorous than it was to women he wanted to impress, but he found himself telling her the truth, about the long hours, the tedium, the late nights, the chaotic billing and unwillingness of clients to pay that left him constantly teetering on the edge of insolvency. She hung on his every word, and his ego basked in her attention, in how much she loved hearing about it. Suddenly he was seeing his own business in a new light.

__

Robin sighed, listening. It sounded perfect. She was fed up with being stuck behind a desk while better qualified people were promoted over her. Her boss was old and irascible, and didn’t seem to see any of her assets apart from the physical ones. She was fed up with having to wear increasingly bouffant scarves to stop him addressing all his remarks to her chest. She needed to get out. The lifestyle Strike was describing sounded idyllic, if a little precarious. And he’d managed to keep his eyes on her face through the entire conversation. Indeed, she’d got no sense from him that he even saw her as a woman.

__

All too soon, the plane was making its descent, back down though the clouds and into the drizzle below. Her large companion coped better with landing than taking off, and Robin breathed steadily and pretended not to notice him matching his breaths to hers. He jumped as the wheels hit the tarmac, but the plane was soon braking and then trundling along towards the terminal.

__

Strike smiled down at her. “Thanks for your company,” he said. “I normally bury myself in a book on flights. It was nice to have someone to chat to.”

__

Robin smiled back. “You too,” she said.

__

He hesitated a moment, almost looking as though he were sizing her up, and then fished in his pocket and handed her a business card.

__

“Look—” he said. He paused, and then ploughed on. “If you do ever think about leaving the police... Well, I’m hoping to expand the business. I’ll need another investigator at some point.” He gave a rueful grimace. “I probably wouldn’t be able to match your salary.”

__

Heart fluttering, Robin looked down at the card. **CB STRIKE, PRIVATE DETECTIVE**, his contact details and e-mail address. Plain and functional.

__

“I don’t care about money,” she said softly. She’d had too long living with a man to whom money was everything. It was nice to be free of it. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.” She tucked the card into her handbag, her hair swinging forward to hide her face, glad to be shielded from those piercing eyes for a moment. Excitement churned in her stomach. A private detective agency. Just what she had dreamed of as a child.

__

The plane was stationary now and the seatbelt lights went out. Everyone was hauling themselves out of their seats. Strike stood and opened the overhead bins and pulled out a battered-looking khaki rucksack.

__

“Can I pass you your case?”

__

“Thank you, yes. The black one.”

__

He pulled down the smart little wheeled cabin case, neat and functional, and hid a grin. He could have picked that case out for her himself.

__

Slowly they made their way along the aisle, following the shuffling queue. Robin eyed the broad back and wide shoulders in front of her, encased in a huge black coat now. Tall herself, she was used to looking most men in the eye, especially in heels. She liked a man who was taller than her.

__

_ Stop it,_ she told herself. _He’s just a guy you met on a plane._ But she thought about his business card, tucked into her handbag, and grinned.

__

They came to the door of the plane, and Strike gripped the hand rail and made his way slowly and laboriously down towards the tarmac. Robin had forgotten that he’d lost a leg. He coped well, though, only the stairs making it look hard work. Once on the flat, he moved smoothly. She wondered how long ago it had happened.

__

All too soon, they were in the terminal. Strike found himself highly reluctant, suddenly, to say goodbye to his new companion, with her gold hair and easy, relaxed company.

__

_ Don’t be ridiculous,_ he told himself. He turned to face her, and she stuck a hand out, jokily formal.

__

“Nice to meet you, Cormoran Strike.”

__

He grinned his big grin. “You too, Robin—?”

__

“Ellacott. Robin Ellacott.”

__

They shook hands, and he winked at her. “Good luck with the Tinder hunt. Seem to be plenty of smart, suited guys on there.”

__

She laughed a little. “I was married to one for a year, for all the good it did me. Perhaps I need to try something else.” She grinned back up at him. “Good luck with your Tinder hunt, too.”

__

He smiled. “You do know you’ll have to start swiping right to get any matches? Not that I’ve got any yet, but I haven’t swiped many.”

__

She laughed. “Yeah, I know. I’ll pluck up the courage.”

__

She hesitated, not wanting this encounter to be over. Wouldn’t it be an idea, if she was seriously considering working with this man, to get to know him better?

__

Her cheeks pink, she heard herself say, “You know, I owe you a drink. Are you busy right now?”

__

His big grin disarmed her, made her heart flutter again. “I’m not, just got to get to my hotel. I’m meeting my colleague in the morning.”

__

“So...a quick pint?”

__

“Sounds perfect.”

__

She nodded. “Good.” She turned and set off towards the exit, pulling her smart little case, and he grinned to himself and followed her, trying very hard not to notice how well her trousers fit her rather gorgeously curvy bottom.

__

Strike reflected as he followed her out of the airport, keenly looking forward to his first cigarette in some hours, that it was a good thing Robin had swiped left. He had a strong instinct about this woman, and he harboured hopes from her demeanour that she might take him up on his offer of a job. How awkward would working with her be if she’d swiped right too? And he wasn’t going to mix business and pleasure. If she did turn out to be a potential colleague, that was all she’d be.

__

Ah, well. Perhaps the dark-haired girl with the ridiculous name and the implausibly red lipstick would turn out to be a match. He could only hope.

__

__

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never really been drawn to write AU, but I saw [this](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/188862116485/not-a-match-lulaisakitten-cormoran-strike), and this fic happened.


End file.
